


The Simplest and Most Significant

by bold_seer



Category: Doctor Strange (2016), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Aftermath, Angst, Canonical Character Death, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Guilt, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-02
Updated: 2019-05-02
Packaged: 2020-02-10 06:33:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18654889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bold_seer/pseuds/bold_seer
Summary: “If this is your version ofit wasn’t the man, or the gun, it was the bullet that killed him, I’m not in the mood for it.”





	The Simplest and Most Significant

New York was still New York. The sun still shone, and the Sanctum stood where it had, on Bleecker Street, at various points in time. Welcoming Strange back.

He’d greeted Wong casually, with an almost nonchalant attitude reminiscent of his past self, and Wong had nodded at him. Five years was a long time to live without someone. It was longer than they’d known each other. Longer than Strange had known magic, in real time. Mourning had turned into moving forward, whether or not that meant moving on.

Time was also relative. Billions of people were back where they had disappeared from, with years gone by, forced to reconcile a moment’s horror with a strange new world and time. For others, their sudden bereavement was undone as unexpectedly, five years later. At worst: it was too late.

They would cope. They had to. Wong would.

Strange had worn a haunted look in his eyes since the funeral. His face was ashen. The complexion of a man who’d died, and who seemed like it. Before that, he’d lived the future, over and over again. Now that it was truly over, and people were picking up the pieces post-post-Thanos, he was going to have to come to terms with everything.

All of them were affected by the events, but none like Strange. Not even the crisscrossing time travellers. The ones who’d felt the loss. He’d experienced time on a monumental scale that was nonetheless exceedingly personal in its essence. Strange was exhausted by it, as if he’d woken up from a five-year nightmare, which wasn’t far from the truth. For the first time, Wong wondered if he would crumble under the pressure. Or cope with it, if anyone could.

“I sent a man to his death,” Strange spoke eventually. His voice was hoarse, not from overuse. On the table in front of him stood a cup of tea that he hadn’t touched. His hands were crossed. “Allowed or encouraged it to happen.” He paused to gather his thoughts. His words. “I don’t know if this is my greatest failure, as a Doctor and a human being. Or my greatest accomplishment. That I let it happen.”

Wong regarded him seriously. “To save half the planet.”

“Why does it seem like a failure?” Strange sounded defeated, the reason for his resignation obvious.

“It took a life.” More than one life to get there, but one that Strange felt deeply.

“He only got on the ship because of me. Because of the Time Stone. I told Stark I would sacrifice his life. I didn’t think it would be so difficult. He reminded me too much of myself. All the wrong things. I was wrong about him. Yet there was no other way. In so many different timelines.”

Could Strange see a way forward? Not the way to course correct, which they’d found. A way for himself. From this.

He sidestepped the subject. “Doctor – the Hulk? Bruce Banner mentioned he met the Ancient One. While I was operating on a patient. Another life. Another me. Or another her? She never mentioned it.”

That hadn’t been the present or the past of the Sorcerer Supreme as they’d known her, but whether her awareness had encompassed it nonetheless was a different question. It didn’t matter. “She couldn’t have warned you about what was to come, any more than you could’ve warned Stark.”

“But I did. I did. A million times.” Strange’s eyes, oddly colourless, reflected pain. He knew too well what Wong meant. “After I realised it wasn’t working. Every time led to a worse situation. Thanos killing everyone. Instead, Natasha Romanoff and Tony Stark died. I saw all of that. All of it. In fragments, not all of which made sense at the time. Worse than dying.” His smile was bleak and humourless. “Which never worked out, by the way. Giving up my life for the Stone.”

Of course. The first option he’d tried. Strange continued, “My death alone was never enough to stop him.”

The issue wasn’t one life against another, but one life against billions. Who could be saved. Despite how desperately Strange had tried, one couldn’t. He said with sorrow, “I knew that Tony Stark had to survive Titan. Then perhaps, one day, the Avengers would undo the snap. At whatever cost.”

Wong frowned. “Stark lived his life and made his own choices. He’d had a better five years, more happiness than many in a lifetime.”

Strange was unconvinced. “Happiness turned to ash. He died, Wong. A tragic and painful death, no do-overs.” Death and pain were both inevitable parts of life, but no one wished for a painful passing. Even if it entailed a hero’s death, surrounded by their loved ones. “What parent wants to leave their child? He left behind a grieving family. A daughter without her father. A wife without her husband. Dying wasn’t his preferred choice.”

“Would he have chosen differently, if he’d known?” Strange stayed silent, and Wong pressed the point. “If it was Stark’s destiny to defeat Thanos, it may have been his destiny to die fighting. You’re not responsible for that.”

“Really,” Strange said tersely, looking up. “If this is your version of _it wasn’t the man, or the gun, it was the bullet that killed him_ , I’m not in the mood for it.” He breathed out. “I pointed him in the right direction. With my own hands.”

The heart of the matter. “And do you regret it?”

“No.” A weary answer. “I regret that he died. Of course. I do. What I did - what I didn’t, I can’t regret that. I can’t. There wasn’t a choice.”

It wasn’t that Strange had engineered the events. Only the first cut. The sharpest. He hadn’t interfered, that was the key. Avengers. Masters of the Mystic Arts. All strived for the best, preparing for the worst. “Would Stark blame you for finding the way to save the world?”

“We’ll never know,” Strange replied in a low voice. The light had changed in the room. Clouds in the distance. Silence fell over them. Strange remained motionless, more like the dead than the living. 

There was something else. “To be the Sorcerer Supreme.”

Strange protested, “I don’t –” Think I’m ready. Qualify. Want to do it anymore.

“You will,” said Wong. “It comes with a great weight. A man who sees the future. Can he prevent it? Should he try? Is he responsible for every turn of events?” Ripple on the water.

“No. Yes. I don’t know,” Strange admitted. “It is a far, far worse thing that I did, than I have ever done. That’s what it feels like. To doom someone. It’s strange. Letting everyone die was almost easier.”

Easier to die with the knowledge than live with the consequences, but Strange didn’t mean that. The former scenario was impersonal, with the hope that they would live. The latter involved personal accountability and a definite ending.

“I’m trying to think of something, but there’s nothing.” Strange’s expression revealed his helplessness. “I don’t have a frame of reference.” 

“You couldn’t have done anything differently.” The truth, in its brutal mercy.

“I know!” Strange snapped. More quietly, “I know.” He shook his head. “If I’d told him. Would that have been kinder? It never worked. I would’ve given my life. That would’ve changed nothing. Some things. Nothing in the end.”

One piece of information could change everything, a grand gesture be in vain. It wasn’t a competition. It shouldn’t have been. They all believed in something. The world. Its future. The people they loved. They were ready to give their lives for a greater cause. Wong would have. Strange had done it before. He understood the nature of sacrifice.

“Stephen, you’re a good man,” Wong declared, his tone blunt. Not a fragile goodness, but rooted deep in the ground. “If time allows, I suspected you’ll become a great man. In spite of the things you’ve done. Because of them. You grieve and feel guilty because you’re human.”

And then, suddenly, Strange belonged again in the land of the living. Though his face was wan, his features appeared lively. He said, “I haven’t been gone for long. Or have been for a while. Depending on the point of view. But I’ve missed –” Shrugged, more from tiredness than indifference.

Your counsel. Company. Having someone to talk to.

Wong smiled, and thought, in private, that he had missed Strange.


End file.
